


The Minister's Black Veil

by The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso



Series: The Minister's Black Veil Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Everyone is creeped out, F/M, Gen, John Watson is a Saint, Marriage Proposal, Molly Hooper Appreciation, Multi, Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Minister In the Black Veil, Parentlock, Secretly Insecure Sherlock, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso/pseuds/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based from Nathaniel Hawthorne's parable The Minister's Black Veil.<br/>Sherlock Holmes goes to the small town to investigate a mysterious family with a strange new tradition. This tradition brings out fears he never knew he had and greatness in him he never knew he needed. All with the help of John Watson and Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Begin With. . .

Parson Hooper was a commended man, borne of no exceptional characteristics except that of his kindness. He lived a sparse life, one that lacked of all decadency afforded to men in his station of life as well as society. When he married his appeals for his bride to live in similar fashion had been accredited and accepted he had been more than relieved. When Parson Hooper had been bequeathed with the privilege of a daughter he dubbed her Molly Hooper. The soft name appeared apposite as the namesake child grew into a kind and soft manifestation of femininity. She ran with all graces of the softer sex but a mind as fanciful and inquisitive as that of the brute sex. As the daughter of a pastor she was considered of high esteem in the community and was treated as such, although her interest was never in the church but of the revolution of the sciences. As she had no matriarch to eradicate this passion she was encouraged by her father to receive the equivalent of that of a college student with a doctorate. She began studies even after the Veil and the incident with the Veil. When Molly Hooper was of three and ten years of age her father had presented the entire family with the proposition of the black veil.

 

When Sherlock Holmes had been forced to abstain from opium by his meddlesome older brother he was more than aggrieved by his boredom and failed to find pursuits that alleviated it. What was considered his best work with Scotland Yard was done with a level of mediocrity that he had surprised even himself. So when the detective Lestrade requested that he go to Burnley in Lancashire because of a mystery he was more than elated for a small reprieve from the boredom he found in London.

When he arrived and had offended the matron of the only hotel in the town square he stood on the edge of the main road deciding a course of action to be taken for boarding when suddenly a gaggle of females walked directly towards him and as they walked past he heard whispers of a Minister’s black veil.

“Oh and the girl! That girl! Oh she is most indecent! No woman should be doing those depraved things! Oh the books she reads!” One woman with an elongated nose spoke.

Her companions nodded.

“And not yet married. It’s a wonder why she let’s those looks go to waste!” One companion who was rather short spoke.

“It’s the father! Oh and not that you can tell by their veils! Those insidious and somber veils!” Another chimed.

Sherlock began walking along with them and put on his most amicable smile.

“Hello, my ladies. May I inquire as to you are addressing?” He said in a honey-suckle voice.

One woman blushed and fanned herself as she spoke. “Why, the Minister Hooper and his family. They had adorned veils and have for not more than eight years.”

He smiled at her, his charms beguiling her. “And may I inquire as to their current residence?”

The woman nodded. “They live but two miles away from the church.”

Sherlock smiled at her and nodded as he walked away from the group, hearing their whispers.

When he walked back to his luggage on the end of the road there was a figure standing besides it. The face was covered by a black veil yet as he approached it appeared to be a distinctly feminine figure.

“You must be of the Hooper family.” Sherlock stated, simply to have her affirm what he already deduced to be correct.

“Indeed I am, Sir.” The woman said. All Sherlock saw was her mouth, soft lips that were red as a sunset and gentle slopped upon her face. The skin that was visible around the mouth appeared opaque and milky. It unsettled his nerves but he quickly regained them.

He looked at her for many moments, deliberating before he spoke. “If I may ask, what is the purpose of your veil?”

The woman laughed and Sherlock was taken aback by the noise as it came behind a desolate curtain.

“So, you have the heard the gossip of our town. Yes, well, I wear the veil to see truth.”

Sherlock Holmes was baffled at this. He spoke no words as she had rendered him still.

She smiled him even as he was unresponsive; it was evident that she took great joy in her witticisms. “Are you all right, Sir?”

He shook his head and recovered from those comments he was unused to woman making. Rarely had he met an accomplished woman who had been of the mind to create a repartee. He found that even without looking into her eyes he enjoyed her vivacious temperament.

“Yes, I am. Although this fine establishment,” he gestured toward the hotel with a sarcastic brow, “has refused to board me.”

The woman laughed again. “I take it that you said something of offense? For in all my years I have never heard of Matron Agatha being anything other than a saint.”

Sherlock stood erect and frowned deeply. “I simply told her all that she needed to know.”

The woman smiled softly and picked up his bag. “My father will be delighted to have you. Pray tell me, what is your name?”

Sherlock reached for the bag. “Ma’am, it is not suitable for a lady to carry luggage. As well as I have important scientific tools that must not be tampered with. And the name is Sherlock Holmes. May I ask yours?”

Molly Hooper gripped the handles with more deliberation and care. “Well, Mr. Holmes, it is my pleasure to inform you that I am not a proper lady. My name is Molly Hooper. And that scalpel you have must be done away with a good polishing.”

If he refused to admit it later it mattered not, but in that moment Sherlock Holmes was besotted with the woman behind the veil.

 

 

When they arrived to her humble home three children came running. “Molly! Oh Molly, Papa has been so boring with coursework!”

Molly smiled down at the children that latched onto her waist and Sherlock Holmes could see they were not her children but remnants of a marriage in which the actual mother had died. Molly Hooper had reared her siblings with support of her father. It was not a wonder to him why she was yet to be married.

Molly laughed down at them. “Oh come now, it could not have been such a bore! Heed his words, lest you become simpletons, and wouldn’t you rather prefer to follow me on my research expeditions?”

The three boys nodded emphatically. “Of course, Molly!” They said in unison.

“Well then off with you, you must go lest Father take away your play time.”

Sherlock watched with indifference as each boy gave her a kiss on the cheek and ran back to their lessons.

He looked at her. “May I ask why the children do not wear veils as you and your father?”

She nodded and motioned for him to follow her as she talked and walked. “My father believes that once they have achieved a level of understanding and self clarity they may make the decision upon adorning the veil or renouncing that philosophy. I do it as a sign of support to my father.”

“It has resulted in the loss of many suitors.”

Molly almost gasped until she realized there was nothing false about that assumption.

“Yes,” she said calmly, “but I must support my father, and he supports my academic tendencies, so I am most grateful that I have yet to find a person who may see beyond the veil.”

Sherlock looked at her directly when she placed his luggage on his bed. “That is actually my reason for visiting this town. I would like to know more about your veils.”

Molly opened her mouth to give an explanation but the children guffawed and ran past while her father sat in the seat adjacent to hers.

His veil masked all but his mouth and Sherlock Holmes was struck by the way the veil made him feel overwrought or nervous.

“This fine gentleman’s asking about the veil?” The Minister Hooper inquired after his daughter.

“Yes, father. He has.”

The pair of black veils brought upon Sherlock Holmes a great anxiety, as though they shared secrets he’d yet to understand. It drew out of him his darkest thoughts without even a malicious word from the wearers.

“Oh well that is a first, isn’t it, Molly?” The Minister said in a quite excited tone.

Molly nodded her ascent wordlessly.

The Minister leaned forward; Sherlock saw only his mouth, splitting into a kind grin. “Well you see, mister. . .”

“Holmes. The name is Sherlock Holmes.” He offered quickly.

The Minister nodded. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you see, we can’t much explain to you what they are. You’d have to discover that one on your own.”

Blasted man! Sherlock had expected an answer, something simple. Oh, but this was much more engaging! No, this was no battle of wits, no crime or criminal to go after, just himself in his own mind. Sherlock Holmes was of the mind that he had uncovered a quandary. And he was all too happy to oblige to the Minister’s words that he should navigate its meaning for himself. He was so enticed by the mystery that he came close to sending Lestrade a letter of thanks.

 

 

 

On the fortnight of Sherlock Holmes’ stay John Watson knocked on the Minister Hooper’s door in a most aggrieved state.

Molly Hooper answered the door. “Hello, may I help you?”

John Watson stood tall (which was not much seeing as how Molly eclipsed him even in her heels). “Hello, my name is Dr. John Watson. I’ve come to inquire after Sherlock Holmes. Is he lodged here?”

“Oh, Watson! I was wondering where you’d gone off to!” Mr. Holmes said from behind her. She motioned for Dr. Watson to enter into their parlor.

“Won’t you come in, Dr. Watson?”

The doctor walked in and she could tell that his anger was a tempest and it was directed at Mr. Holmes most vehemently. “Sherlock, I was in _London_! Where you had been the last time I saw you until you _buggered off_ ,” he looked back at Ms. Hooper, “sorry about the language, Ms. Hooper.”

She nodded. “It is all right, Dr. Watson. He’s been here but a fortnight and already half the town thinks him the most meddlesome and most non-gregarious man to have ever set foot in this town.”

Sherlock sighed heavily as though Dr. Watson’s words vexed him greatly. “John, it doesn’t matter! I’ve uncovered a mystery here to occupy my psyche for a great while!”

Dr. Watson looked back at Molly. “What is he speaking about?”

She moved to interject herself between the two, lest there be need of that type of things, but she found she believed that they would not be the types to be dominated by their animalistic natures.

“Mr. Holmes has come to talk and study the black veils.”

The fact that Dr. Watson had to look at her a second time as though he had not seen her veil told her a great many things about his character.

Sherlock and Molly moved forward in perplexity and she smiled at him.

“Strange.” Sherlock Holmes muttered as though he was examining John Watson with his eyes.

“Indeed.” Molly Hooper whispered.

John drew back from their inquisitive gazes with unease. “What?”

Molly Hooper stood tall and gave him a wide smile. He found that he thought it looked quite nice even as it was devoid of a face to be paired with it. “John Watson, you don’t have a veil. Oh that is brilliant, John Watson.”

John Watson shook his head in confusion. “Pardon?”

Molly walked forward and gripped his hand.

“Every human creates a veil, as they grow. You, John Watson, you do not have one! Such great news!”

John Watson pulled his hand away and looked over to where Sherlock watched him with rapt attention.

“Okay.” He drew out the word.

It was decided that night by both men that they would stay in town for the foreseeable future as Sherlock conducted his research.

 

Molly Hooper was walking silently along the creek a little ways away from her house. Her veil was taken off and she felt the rays of sun as they penetrated her skin and eyelids and heated her from the bone. She felt the nippy air of autumn and brushed her hands along the bark of trees. She took off the veil as she walked and listened to the babbling of the creek as water flowed and the earth turn. The earth turned. The water rushed. The plants grew. The sun set. The birds sang. The leaves crunched. Her breaths transformed into fog. The world was as it should be; a universal whole in which Molly Hooper was the center and loved all that existed and had existed and would exist. She breathed in the air and felt an exaltation of her spirit as she always did when she could take off the veil and nothing would be hidden. She felt the earth and wind and sky against her fingertips and Molly Hooper felt alive.

“Hello there.” A voice said from behind her.

She rushed to put on the veil as footsteps approached and by the time Mr. Holmes was standing right in front of her she looked as she did all other days. Plain, regular, hidden.

Her mouth formed a grin. “Pleased to see you again, Mr. Holmes. I was just out for a walk.”

He nodded. “I see. Although your abysmal fascination with nature astounds me, as I’ve never seen it as nothing but a biological necessity and burden.”

Molly looked taken aback by the curve of her mouth. “Excuse me, Mr. Holmes! But that biological system you believe to be a burden is one of the greatest creations of our universe! It has given you and I breath, and has replenished the earth with new life and organisms far beyond our comprehension! And not to exclude that it brings many artists and writers and painters and even scientists great joy to know that all around them the world spins and everything exists with a function, and with beauty! So I shall be very sorry to inform you that I am not of the same ideology you hold for this magnificent world.”

Her speech had him smirking and oh how she detested smirking arrogant males. She was of a soft temperament, but could never stand males who celebrated the inferiority of others.

He turned to her slightly with his mouth upturned slightly. “You surprise me, Molly Hooper. Never have I seen a proper woman of your standing defend more ardently the earth and it’s facets.”

She smiled as she walked on, looking behind her only to say, “Haven’t I told you, Mr. Holmes? I am not a proper woman.”

And as she slowly retreated forward with a spring in her step and fingertips lightly tracing over brown bark, Sherlock Holmes muttered, “No, Miss Hooper. You most certainly are not.”


	2. Cold Days For Our Minds

In the spring, when Sherlock Holmes had infiltrated Molly Hooper’s life, it was a most unexpected event. They had been of completely different dispositions; Sherlock Holmes was biting and sarcastic and cruel where Molly Hooper was compassionate, understanding, and kind. Even with her disposition everyone in town, including males, understood she was not to be trifled with. Poor, unrealizing Mr. Holmes realized this the hard way. 

Sherlock Holmes had been lodged with them for a month. The boys loved him despite his insouciance and Molly Hooper, besides the pleasantries that their society necessitated, spoke less than a few words to him each day. Sherlock sat with her father for hours at a time and on Sundays after mass he would take a long walk with him and Parson would explain to him theories on religion and although Sherlock Holmes was entirely secular he found himself fascinated by the way that Mr. Hooper explained things. After the mass on one particular Sunday was the day that Mr. Holmes most certainly got his words retorted with malice.   
After the Sunday mass it was routine for the three boys to go away their aunt for the evening while Molly decided to stay by her father’s side on this day. Sherlock had been eager to ask him more questions, but Molly refused.   
“Mr. Holmes,” she said, as they walked slowly by the creek, “my father is not as young as he used to be. Give him rest.”   
Sherlock sighed heavily. “Ms. Hooper, I have questions!”   
She watched her father walk further as she hung behind and he stared.   
“Mr. Holmes, let my father rest. You may ask these insipid questions when he is well enough. He is aging, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock scoffed.   
“Insipid?! Please, Ms. Hooper. This coming from a girl who has seen nothing but fanciful tales and has failed to experience the world as I have. Insipid? I think not!”   
Molly Hooper grew apoplectic with each uttered word. “Ask me your questions.” She spoke through gritted teeth.   
Sherlock frowned. “Surely your father has more insight. You are younger, not as familiar with the philosophy.”   
He began to walk forward after her father, but something struck Molly. It had been the disregard. She knew it had been the way he’d disregarded her words as the entire world and society had. She abhorred the way he said those things as if they were fact, as if he knew her more than she did herself. He was moving to catch up when she coughed.   
He turned around.   
“What is it now, Ms. Hooper?”   
She walked forward, parasol closed and her mouth set in a deep frown. Sherlock Holmes had incited the wrath of Molly Hooper and Parson looked at the poor fellow as though it was his dying day and also his entertainment. She walked up to him and poked him in the chest. The contact was harsh and Sherlock felt something akin to shame, suddenly, inexplicably.   
“I don’t know how you boys act in London, Mr. Holmes. But here we respect our elders and we respect our women. Do not, for one everlasting moment, think that I am inferior in any way to the likes of you. I have received the equivalent of a college education and a doctorate! Although I have no license because it may surprise you a great deal that woman are not classified as being capable of such! Or perhaps it wouldn’t surprise you at all! Well, Mr. Holmes, I am most certain that I am and will continue to be capable of such. I have just as much knowledge as my father, for we learn from each other and share ideals! I will kindly disregard anything you have said previous to my speech, but make no mistake, Holmes,” she spat the name with indignation and anger, “I. Am. Not. Just. A. Girl. And I most certainly will not let such an ignorant and imposing man accuse me of such! Subservient, my arse!”   
The last sentence had Parson Hooper doubling over in great laughter as Sherlock Holmes stared at the woman in the veil and she huffed as she sashayed away from him, her steps permeated a tone of anger. He stood, watching her retreating figure, until Parson Hooper came up to him and clapped him in the back, the only visible emotion was the mirth in his smile.   
“Oh dear, son. Now you’ve done it.”   
Sherlock Holmes was caught between a line of attraction and fear. Mostly fear.  
They sat at dinner, eating the most nondescript meal they ever had and Sherlock Holmes was surprised that Molly Hooper was not glaring daggers at him (not that he’d be able to tell). She smiled at the boys, laughed at her father’s jokes, and kept her polite and socially acceptable distance from him. It did not bother him that she barely uttered a word. It did not bother him that she only gave him a slightly smile at all. It did not bother him that she avoided him for a week after. What bothered him, and in this bothering arose perplexity, was the fact that the black veil affected him, made him feel extreme culpability for his crass words and sharp, unhinged tongue.

 

The next Sunday Parson Hooper walked down the path of the church as it led home and he winked at Sherlock just as he began the trek. He saw Molly Hooper heading the path that led to the trail by the creek and he followed her wordlessly. To begin he had only done so as not to draw her attention or anger, but as she took off the veil and hat (with closed eyes) he followed if only to catch a glimpse of the face behind the veil. The pins fell from her hair and it flowed down her shoulders as supple as silk that flowed on the finest bed sheets. He was intensely captivated by the transformation. Her face was sloped, sharp features made soft by her femininity and kindness and smile. She sighed softly as she threaded her hand along the bark. Sherlock was entranced; enraptured by her soft smile and luminous skin as she absorbed the sun and never before had Sherlock Holmes appreciated nature so fully. He let her go a few paces forward before he cracked a twig and suddenly she adorned her veil and hat with ease, much to Sherlock’s dismay.   
She spun around in shock and slumped in disdain when she realized who she was in company of.   
“Mr. Holmes.” She said, in a completely deferential tone. He realized that when confronted with the veil his own misgivings seemed amplified and looking at those lips set in a frown disturbed him greatly. He missed her open, free, honest face as the sunlight reflected off of it.   
“Ms. Hooper, I must first say that I am not a very wise man, a genius, I will humbly accept the title, but polite I am not. I am sorry.”   
She saw him through his veil, through that cloth that divided the honest from the dishonest, the sincere from the insincere. She hoped that someday soon he’d see beyond the veil, beyond its implications. She grew tired of her continual effort to validate that she was of her own thoughts and mind and body. “  
All is forgiven.” She said softly.   
He walked forward and stood stiffly.   
“May I join you?”   
She nodded then they began their trek forward on the trail. They had reached the halfway mark when Sherlock shifted his eyes and spoke in a quiet tone.   
“Do you always take off your veil when you are alone?”   
Molly stopped the moment the words left his lips yet she continued to look forward. Her lips set into an indifferent shape.   
She continued to walk.   
“Yes. Alone there are no veils. No veils.”   
Sherlock kept his hands behind his back as they walk and walked with an air of elegance that was almost ethereal.   
“I have discovered what the veils mean.”   
Molly Hooper nodded. Of course the great detective had. He was, after all, a genius. “And what conclusion might that be, Mr. Holmes?”   
He looked over at her from his side of vision and smirked.   
“It is a division. It is a reflection of the sins of the person who looks upon it.”   
“And yet you seem greatly disturbed and frustrated by it, Mr. Holmes. I do wonder what sins you may be keeping.” She said softly.   
He stiffened. “I have no idea what you mean.”   
Molly Hooper chuckled.   
“Oh, do try a bit harder to lie. Although it won’t do you very much good. I am very skilled at spotting a liar.”   
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You think me a liar?”   
She looked over at him before staring at the trees ahead.   
“I think you have a veil. Perhaps the strongest of all. And it is not even a tangible one.”   
Sherlock Holmes looked at her as they walked silently. More often than not he found that he deliberated when he talked to Ms. Hooper. He found that he did not want to be made a fool of, but that he very much was affected by her responses to certain things and to certain people. To be even more disconcerted in Sherlock Holmes’ psyche, she was kind to all, even those who had alienated her. He found that if ever the need arise and the world required service of someone kind and understanding Molly Hooper would be overqualified by tenfold. When they arrived back at Hooper’s home Holmes hung about the threshold.   
“Aren’t you coming in?” Molly inquired.   
“I shall not. I have pressing matters to attend to with Watson. I must go.” He said quickly.   
His fast paced walk and words seem to hold an air of suspicion although when the three boys tackled her and requested a day of science she promptly forgot.

“John, you must help me.” Sherlock burst through the room.   
John was sitting at the table with tea and Sherlock promptly roosted on the seat opposite of him.   
“Christ, what is it now, Sherlock?” John Watson asked, only slightly intrigued by Sherlock’s frustrated manner.   
“John, I am in love with Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said plainly.   
John almost regurgitated his tea from shock. “I’m sorry? Sherlock, just the other day you insulted her by calling her a girl. I’m not sure if she’s taken a shining to you.” Sherlock sighed wordlessly.

 

* * *

 

 

Parson Hooper died on a Sunday after mass in November, ten months after the arrival of Sherlock Holmes.   
He was no longer part of the church at this point, having retired the role of Minister when his old age could no longer permit his mobility. He ranted and raved at the villagers, pointing out their grievances and misgivings on his deathbed. As he was lowered into the mud the very next week Molly Hooper took the same path home down the creek, her veil completely acceptable and appropriate for the occasion. She labored to forget her father’s casket being lowered, even in death his veil covered him, separated him from the entirety of humanity. Molly Hooper knew that as the only living embodiment of their ideals the philosophy would die with her. She was condemned to a life of isolation, regret, and grief. The veil no longer meant what it had before. Nothing seemed to be as it should have been. She walked slowly, tears streaming down her face and realized she’d expected him to live longer, to last eons such as they believed their ideals would.   
“What will you do about the house?” Mr. Holmes intoned softly and moved to walk next to her.   
She sniffled and wiped her eyes carefully, as not to show her face.   
“The house belongs to the Church. They believed me a well educated woman with a kind heart and have permitted I have it, the deed is in my possession.”   
He nodded and there was a furrow in his brow.   
“I am glad that you will keep the house, Ms. Hooper. I can deduce there was many a kind days spent there.”   
“Indeed there was. At least he is joined with my mother.” She sighed morosely.   
Sherlock Holmes did not give a single damn about any mothers, no one caught his attention, and rarely had a person managed to keep it. This was to exempt Molly Hooper, because he found that all facets of her life intrigued him.   
“Was she nice? Your mother, I mean.” Molly looked over at him with a slightly shocked face. The veil concealed most of it, but Sherlock grew used to her facial queues.   
“Are you sincerely asking, Mr. Holmes? I shall refuse if only you do this for boredom, for it is not necessary to fill silence with vapid words.” She spoke harshly. She was in not state to be played by Sherlock Holmes, nor did she find that as much as she was attracted to him did she want to deal with it. He nodded and looked at her.   
“I am sincerely asking, Ms. Hooper.” Molly sighed and continued walking down by the creek, looking at the footstep her father and she had etched over the years.   
“She loved my father, which wasn’t all too surprising as rarely do I find people who did not find my father amiable. But she was kind as well; I remember not very many things about her but her soft brown hair and her kind eyes. I suppose that is all I have ever truly needed.”   
He nodded. They continued walking in silence until Sherlock spoke quietly.   
“I have no parents. They died when I was a child. My brother reared me with the help of a nanny.”   
Molly Hooper nodded. “I am sorry.” He nodded.   
“There’s no need for apologies. It matters not to me whether I was raised by my parents.”   
Molly sighed. “I see so much sadness in you, yet you claim that there is none. Oh, Mr. Holmes, the sins and secrets you must be keeping.”   
He stopped for a moment and looked at her. “How is it, Ms. Hooper, that you find the things inside of me which I wish for no one to see?”   
She continued walking.   
“It is the veil, Mr. Holmes. I have seen many things through this veil which most refuse to acknowledge.” She walked away; her treading was melancholy and her eyes, had any had the chance to gaze into them, had tears she refused to shed. She was a mile down the creek when Sherlock finally spoke, looking after her.

“Oh, Ms. Hooper, the sins and secrets you must be keeping.”

 

He told them he would be gone for a fortnight. The boys had no longer any recollection of a life without Sherlock Holmes in it and Molly Hooper found that even for such an audacious man, she would miss him as well.   
He visited the newlywed Watson’s in London.   
“Come on in, Sherlock.” Mary smiled at him when he arrived.   
Very much was Sherlock’s approval at the thought that if Watson had married anyone, it would be the kind and tolerable Mary Morstan.   
“He hasn’t shut up about you not visiting in ages.” Mary whispered conspiratorially.   
Sherlock graced her with a smirk, very much enjoying her modern way of talking and her ease with him, who many found to be suspicious and strange. “Thank you for informing me, Mary. May I speak to John?”   
She smiled at him.   
“Of course, I’ll go get him, it’ll only be a moment.” She waddled away, her hand on her protruding waist and Sherlock took roost at one of the chairs in the sitting room.   
The Watson’s returned, hands interlinked and they sat down across from him, paying apt attention as though they had the predestined knowledge that Sherlock Holmes was to make an important confession.   
“Well what is it, mate?” John inquired, genuine curiosity in his eyes. Sherlock looked at John and Mary. He saw they hands, formulating a link that transcended that of a physical form, formulating a love and affection that Sherlock Holmes had disregarded as a form of human emotional debilitation. He had. And after many nights sitting across from her, of watching the veil conceal all those secrets he had never been quite capable of deducing, Sherlock Holmes came to the not so invasive and shocking discovery that he in fact desired to spend his remaining days surrounded and engulfed and transformed and consumed by the essence that was Molly Hooper.   
“What is it like?” Sherlock inquired softly.   
The reactions of Mary and John were quite opposite. Mary gave him an immediate and understanding smile while John furrowed his brow.   
"I am not understanding, Sherlock.”   
Mary elbowed him. “The woman, John. Molly Hooper, was it,” she smiled a euphoric smile at Sherlock, “oh I’m so happy for you.”   
They all stayed silent as Sherlock had not responded to any remarks or questions asked.   
“What is it like?” He repeated.   
The Watson’s looked at each other, smiling. John kissed the hand that was graced with a golden band and looked at Sherlock. “It is selflessness, Sherlock. It is loving someone so much more than yourself but them loving you so much that you feel all of it at the same time. It’s . . . It’s sleeping on in Sundays and walks in Autumn in the park. There’s just no other way to described it.”   
Sherlock found that this explanation was satisfactory and left with no other words. Before his exit he turned around and addressed both Mary Morstan and John Watson with an exalted smile that reflecting, for once, his contentment with the world.   
“Thank you.”   
The door slammed with finally and both Watsons’ settled back.  
“Well that was certainly strange.” Remarked John.

He arrived to the small and inconsequential town five days early and was greeted by two small boys.   
“Sherlock!” They greeted in excitement. The third was a smaller boy who waddled forwarded, not yet having taken to the understanding of balance and gravity.   
“’Lock!” The boy let out a joyful yelp.   
The boys attached themselves to his legs and he awkwardly patted their heads of dark brown hair.   
“Hello, Jeremiah, Jacob. And hello Jonathan.”   
“Boys, leave Holmes alone. He’s had a heralding journey, I’m sure. What with all this weather.” A voice called from the door way.   
Sherlock Holmes prepared to say something witty, as he always did and as she always got flustered. But he glanced upward and devoid of her veil, with her hair tied back loosely with curly strands hanging loosely and her dress seemed more vibrant, more colourful, as though the doorway full of light created the light that was within her. She smiled at him and for all his detachment and solitude her smile ignited something within him that terrified him; something he stifled quickly. She motioned for them all to come in and walked out to the area where the four males stood. She picked up Jonathan and smiled softly at Holmes although she got nothing but a stoic face in return.   
“Welcome back, Mr. Holmes.”   
“Come on, boys.” She ushered them into the house as Holmes stood looking at her eyes before she turned away and headed inside her home.   
Her eyes.  
Eyes he had been so sure were hazel or blue, a deep blue. He had theorized and hypothesized that she would have pale eyes like the alabaster skin he had seen. But they were brown. Brown, like the fresh earth after a cleansing rain. Those eyes that felt warm as he saw them without the veil.   
The eyes.   
Her eyes. 


	3. Back To The Start But Missing The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm so sorry I was a piece of shit and neglected this fic. I am back and will be adding and writing up the finale to this. trust me, it get's good.

Molly Hooper tucked each boy into their cots cozily.

Jonathan smiled at her. “Molly?”

“Yes?” She whispered softly.

“Are you our momma now, Molly?” Jacob inquired. His brown hair was unruly as well as when he gazed at her with eyes that reflected upon his upset and Molly found that she was inclined to do what would be right. It was not socially appropriate for her to accept the role sans a husband. But due to the fact that Molly Hooper did not give a single damn she readily took the role she had been inclined to since her stepmother died five years ago.

“Yes, my doves. I will certainly be for the rest of your lives.”

“I’m glad you are.” Jeremiah said from behind her. “I’m glad you don’t wear the veil either. You’re so pretty.”

Molly smiled at him. “Thank you, Jeremiah. Now off you pop, time for you to rest.”

With the boys already slumbering as she rose to exit the room she smiled softly as she shut the door noiselessly and made her way to the kitchen where the kettle and Mr. Holmes awaited, one very curious.

She walked in, fully seeing Mr. Holmes for the first time in the dim-lighting that was granted for her vision. She sat down gracefully as she served tea without any ascent from Mr. Holmes as to whether he would have it or not.

“I presume that perhaps you have questions?”

Sherlock raised his hands to form a steeple beneath his chin as he carefully thought of the syntax and diction he’d use when approaching this. For the veil had been removed but the mystery had yet to be resolved and Sherlock Holmes was confounded mostly by the role that they began to establish, which was that there seemed to be a lack of one. Mr. Holmes had always prided himself with his brilliant mind and ability to comprehend the incomprehensible, but as of late he found it quite difficult to do so with Ms. Hooper and those alarmingly vivacious eyes. In intelligence and wit it seemed he excelled but her quick tongue and repartee made for all the more amusement and challenge on his part. Treading carefully with a woman barely to be trifled with would be dangerous indeed.

“I do.” He said simply.

She laughed and Sherlock immediately recorded the lines that wrinkled at her forehead, mouth, and eyes. It was a most enjoyable pastime watching Molly Hooper in a state of happiness and it pleased Sherlock greatly to be the main source of her mirth.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, no need to act shy, just ask.”

They sat in companionable silence as he contemplated all paths of inquiry and what had been the catalyst of such an inexorable decision to deveil herself. Her face was consistent of kind and round features and eyes that heavily impaired his ability to further deduce any decision made by this woman. Her compassionate smile and kind nature superceded his volatile nature in every imaginable aspect that he brought into contemplation. She sat patiently in one attitude watching him with amusement as the fire continued to dance beside the table as they sat. Unbecoming it was to be sat alone at a table with a man she was betrothed to, but as always emphasized Molly Hooper was a woman who exceeded all expectations and shunted against all societal norms imposed upon her in such an oppressive time period as the one she currently inhabited.

Many people in town spoke of the strange man that was not suitor but guest and who, against the better judgment of their society, stayed with the woman and her wards, another offense taken against both of them as she was not wed and he was not betrothed to her.

They hardly spoke before the passing of her father and what details they learned from each other had been at the gossiping tongue of her father. Her father who had been adamant to believe silently that Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes were tied together in an inexplicable bond that surpassed that of any other he had seen and yet they continually avoided each other. Without her father as a bridge between her and the imposing man she had yet to formulate an honest and benevolent opinion on. She had not the grace to hold her tongue in the privacy of her own home. That vivacity and liveliness greatly shook the detective as the only other woman to have been that honest had been The Woman. And that had not been under the most gracious or kind of circumstance.

His contemplation lasted for more than a few moments as he organized his inquiry.

“Why did you take it off?” He asked, as the firelight reflected upon her face across the table.

She waved a hand nonchalantly. “I shall adorn it at some point in time in my life when it is not so difficult to think of it’s implications. Besides, Mr. Holmes, you are so close to discovering the purpose for it. To wear it as a constant clue would be cheating.”

He nodded. “I am not interested in your games, Ms. Hooper.”

She lifted her chin in indignation. “Not so entertained am I by games as well, Mr. Holmes. I feel pity that you may not discern the difference between an honest mystery and a simple puzzle.”

He looked at her sharply as she kept her head raised haughtily.

Sherlock Holmes was aware that in the area of social events and mannerisms he lacked poise greatly but in this moment never had Sherlock seen a more perceptive and arrogant woman.

She leaned forward when he failed to respond. “I see you, Sherlock Holmes. I see the demons and the sadness inside of you.”

He had never heard any woman utter his name in such a way that his skin had experienced great arousal to it’s ends and nerves. Her eyes were deceptively intelligent and cunning, something that was a bit halting to Mr. Holmes, as he had failed to see these traits in the almost year he had resided with her family.

He sat quietly staring at her, analyzing the shape of her face, her mannerisms, her eyes, and the tapping of her feet against the hardwood floor of the kitchen.

“You’ve lied, Molly Hooper; about a great many things.”

Molly simply stared at him. “How might you have concluded that, Mr. Holmes?”

Her passive and timid nature was no longer there, and surely it had never truly been there, but her stance goaded him with the subliminal promise of a challenge.

“Well to begin with your nature, that is to say, the one that becomes apparent around others shows timid acts and a reserved tongue and I have yet to experience such in your presence. Another lie is the suitors.”

She settled back into her chair. “The suitors?”

Sherlock Holmes nodded as he rose from his chair and began to pace. “Yes. You claim that no man will marry you but gathered from the information that your father gave me it was of my belief that before you adorned the veil you had many prospects before you.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, although  I have stated many times before that I sacrificed my marital bed for education.”

The irrelevance of the subject was transparent to her, left her wondering when this conversation had progressed to such an invasive topic.

Sherlock simply stared. “Something that confounds me even still. I have never heard of a woman forsaking her chance at finding a husband to learn.”

Molly Hooper smirked. “Do you not forsake a wife for the chance to go and solve crimes? I hardly think that these scenarios are different.”

“But there’s more. There’s more than that.”

He shifted, preparing to prove to her that he saw beyond the veil, beyond his own narrow perception of a world constantly turning and constantly aging.

“The children.”

She looked over to the door where the children peacefully slumbered in their beds. “What of them?”

Sherlock shrugged, his eyes once again bored. “The entire town has taken to say you have removed it with the implication that you wish to find a suitor but you have done so for the children. So that they might have eyes to look upon in comfort. Ridiculous. Sentimental.”

She nodded. “No, that’s not all. I am actually conducting an experiment of sort.” Her smile was mischevious and secretive.

He waved a waved a hand around nonchalantly. “It matters not to me. The most basic principles of your so-proclaimed mystery have been solved. There is no longer anything to keep me here.”

She poured herself tea casually. “Well then you may take your leave. We have never inhibited you from taking flight from our home to return to London. When shall you go?”

Her voice remained casual and for the most part even her emotions seemed unaffected that Sherlock Holmes would finally leave their home. She was enamoured, as she was sure every woman to encounter him had been, but she was acutely aware of her need to care for the boys. The needs of their family vastly outweighed her desires and she would let him go. She felt a slight longing and wistful pining but save for those feelings she was aware that she was a talented and self sufficient woman who would function properly without him.

“Now. For the sake of expedience.” He said.

She helped him gather his belongings, which had now seemed to permeate the building and that become ingrained and mixed with the rest of the family’s belongings. Molly Hooper was only worried about what the boys might say but otherwise she remained completely objective to his leaving. For they were not betrothed and she and he had no moral obligations to one another.

Sherlock Holmes had been surprised to see that upon his announcement to leave for London Ms. Hooper seemed very disappointed, but after only a moment seemed calm and gracious about his leaving. He had expected her to forego all societal norms once again and ask him to stay. Molly Hooper was by far the most curious creature Sherlock had the good graces to come across but his time here was over. He already felt the boredom of the packing and would soon like to be in London to see the Watson’s and their new addition; his goddaughter.

 

His carriage arrived at three in the morning and Sherlock Holmes arrived in London midday. His belongs had been taken to Baker Street while he went to the home of Dr. and Mrs. Watson. He knocked and was awarded with Mary holding her blonde haired child.

“Ah, Mary. And the little Watson.” Sherlock said, his stoic mannerisms identical to the way they had been when he left in the autumn almost a year ago.

Mary, as always, had adorned very modern clothing, almost to a point that it made Sherlock Holmes uncomfortable. She had sported trousers and a regular shirt such as the ones John wore while she looked only slightly tired.  
“Oh! Hello again Sherlock. Pleasure as always to see you.” She smiled warmly at him.

He found himself once again inadvertently gracing her with a smirk. The unaffected nature with which she took around him was surprisingly refreshing; her less than extraordinary brain making way to understand an outstanding man and Sherlock Holmes was vastly pleased in John Watson’s choice of partner. He entered the threshold without being invited in as was per his custom.

“And how did the countryside suit?” Mary inquired after him as he sat in their parlor.

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “It was well. Although I am back permanently.”

John walked in just then, taking the child from Mary.

“And what of Molly Hooper? Did your courtship not end well?”

Sherlock looked at him and proceeded to walk over to the window that on looked a small portion of London.

“We were never in a courtship, Watson. How dull those things are. Besides I have wasted a year of my time that could have been well spent on a mystery that was solved as soon as I knew what to look for.”

His haughty mannerisms were not lost on the Watson’s. They saw him; they saw exactly what he was hiding and they exchanged looks of knowledge.

John rocked the babe on his shoulder. “Be that as it may you would not have stayed a whole year. In fact you chose to disregard a series of them. And do not think yourself so capable of lying as Mary and I are very capable of seeing what you’d prefer us not to.”

Sherlock hated that the Watson’s were so clever.

He looked over at them from his position by the window and then proceeded to stare out of it again. The Watson’s talked to him about things he had learned and they spoke softly, goading him to speak. It worked well until Molly Hooper was once again the attention of the conversation.

John looked at him carefully.

“What of Molly Hooper? You had been with her through very many tribulations. Do you not wish to kindle over your shared knowledge and experience?”

Mary speculated that Sherlock had stolen away in the night to avoid the confrontation that daylight seemed to be paired with.

Sherlock once again gave a noncommittal shrug. “No. We made it both very clear that our comraderie was achieved by nothing more than a mystery I wanted to quell my curiosity and a detached companion-like relation.”

Mary looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You knew her for a year. A year. And in that year you did not feel anything for her?”

Sherlock looked directly at her, held her eyes. In their eye contact, so isolated and almost as if they struggled to discover who would look away first, Mary received her answer.

“No.”

John knew he meant yes.

 

When Sherlock arrived at Baker Street at nightfall and the corridors were silent he was maddened. There were no giggling children or kettles whistling or bustling of any kind. He should have considered it a blessing and a grace, but took little comfort in a silence that once meant solace to him.

He sighed and got to work on the letters for cases that sat on his desk. Untouched for a year.


	4. And So All Things End (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry I went on a hiatus, but I have a new computer and I'm back now. I have also decided to extend the ending because the last chapter is really gonna go out with a bang. I hope you all enjoy! ~I.L.V.

It was common among those in Burnley to build upon the topic of Sherlock Holmes in the days and weeks that followed his departure from the meager Hooper estate. The children, as expected, took this as quite the shock and were nothing more than despondent to hear that Sherlock Holmes had taken leave. Molly Hooper coddled them, and while they sat and leaned into her in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability she thoughts perhaps she could find Holmes’s information. So that the boys might be able to talk to him, to not grieve over another person’s lost. She would do anything if it helped them.

The events passed quickly and she did in fact give the boys the address and stationary to write him. They began their correspondence with him and were in fact much more uplifted. She was in no way affected. Or at least that delusion was implanted as a mantra in her mind. She was perfectly content to ignore how the boys wrote him enthusiastically.

**  
  
**

Sherlock visited the Watson’s quite often after the Veil incident. He needed a reprieve from the never ending boredom and silence that Baker street now entailed, but at the Watson’s residence he was given strange looks and pitying glances; very much to his dismay. So he walked for quite a long time until he came upon his home. He arrived home to find that there was postage outside his door, and when he picked up the letters he recognized the lopsided writing of the boys immediately. He also noticed there was only two letters and both written on Molly’s stationary. But no letter from Molly.

He opened them as he walked in and up the stairs to his flat. The boys spoke of how much they missed him, how much they wanted him to teach them experiments. Sherlock Holmes was in his chair by the fire, looking disbelievingly at these letters. Never in his life had anyone called him “enjoyable” and “quite more fun than Molly”. He smiled in the privacy of his flat. The letters sat at the table to his left as he motioned to his writing desk and got to work.

* * *

**  
_Eight Years Later_   
  
**

 

**  
  
**

“Molly! Where is my rucksack?” Jeremiah yelled.

Molly moved into the room. “Really, Jeremy, stop that needless shouting. It’s under your bed.”

He motioned to check and grinned when her words rang true. He kissed her forehead now that he towered over her.  “You’re a lifesaver, Molls.”

She grinned and shooed him away to pack.

Jacob appeared in the doorway of their room looking beyond put upon with his arms crossed. “Why does Jeremy get to go with Mr. Holmes and I don’t?”

Molly sighed and went up to him. “We talked about this, Jacob. Sherlock got Jeremy into Oxford. He’ll be staying with him until he finishes school.”

Jeremiah took this opportunity to appear and grin at her. “I’m going to be a doctor like Molly.”

She blushed and laughed, both embarrassed and pleased at their obvious admiration of her.

Jacob continued to look put upon. “Sherlock says London is bustling. Burnley is as exciting as a toad. Besides I really want to see the mould cultures he’s been testing.”

Molly sighed and tried to appease him. “Perhaps we can go and visit them.”

Jacob smile at the prospect of seeing Sherlock as they hadn’t seen him in over six months.

Over the years as Molly Hooper had attempted to recover from her father’s death and the responsibilities that left her with she had Holmes to thank for appeasing the behaviours of her raucous boys. They had visited him, always leaving Molly behind much to her expressed recommendation. It was not that she was avoiding the man, far from it. She was aware that distracting him from his work with Watson and the boys with her impertinent infatuation was nothing but unproductive.

He had sent her a letter, five years ago, and she had never opened it, figuring it was Holmes’s explanation as to his rejection. So in an act of cowardice she tucked the letter away and avoided it.

The carriage arrived exactly as it should have, with the unexpected addition of Sherlock Holmes who hopped off and walked slowly to the door. He knocked, feeling the knots of anticipation in his stomach at the prospects of seeing Molly after new many a year. He had expected the infatuation to quell, to be stifled by years of separation and boredom. As did many of his passing interests he expected those feelings to dissapate. But seeing the boys every summer since he had left had not helped. She never followed, but the boys held such a vivacious and sturdy atmosphere that it was difficult not to see her in them. He saw her in the way the boys had inexplicably trusted him and smiled at him. He saw her in their dark brown eyes and soft, curly brown hair. Every Summer he anticipated their stay, anticipated perhaps seeing Ms. Hooper again, against his better judgment.

“Oh, Jeremiah! The carriage has arr-” Molly Hooper’s sentence was cut off immediately by her surprise.

Sherlock saw her, saw her round, wide eyes and her cascades of brown hair and Sherlock was impacted with such a severity of admiration he almost gasped. Molly audibly gasped.

“Ms. Hooper.” Sherlock attempted to speak without the thickness that he felt began to strangle his esophagus.

“Mr. Holmes.” She said softly and while the years had been kind to her she looked distinctly different and similar and Sherlock Holmes was sure that any uncertainty about his feelings was quelled in that moment.

Molly Hooper remembered seeing him exactly as he was all those years and she was sure that she had gasped at the forced air that was expelled from her lungs upon seeing him. He looked impossibly taller, more prominent cheekbones, and a kinder disposition. She figured the last had been a result of time with the boys, and that make her unerringly satisfied.

“Molls, what happened? I was just-” Jeremiah stopped in his tracks upon seeing Sherlock looking unrelentingly at Molly. They didn’t move for several minutes and Jeremiah grinned widely.

‘Well! As funny as this strange staring contest is!” He announced and they both jumped slightly.

Sherlock turned and smirked at him. “Jeremiah. I was so pleased to hear that you were accepted to Oxford. I had no doubt you would be brilliant. I am very proud of you.”

Jeremiah smiled at him. “It was your school after all. I wanted to follow.”

Sherlock looked at him seriously. “Never follow me, Jeremiah. You have a brilliant mind and a kind disposition. Use it to your advantage.”

And never had Molly been so affected by a scene than at that moment. In a moment that happened as quick as those passing moments did she imagined would it would have been like to live as a family, for them to have been married and raise the boys together. She waved it off, as she did all lingering and inappropriate thoughts. They had appeared intermittenly throughout the years. The other boys came running at the sound of Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” Jacob and Jon yelled.

In a moment of uncharacteristic warmth Sherlock smiled at them and opened his arms for them to tackle him. They almost knocked him over.

“Sherlock! I was just mentioning to Molly about the mould. I can’t wait to see how the experiment has progressed.”

“And soon you shall. I am recording the results diligently at your request.”

“Sherlock!” Jon spoke to get Sherlock’s attention in part with tugging on his trousers. Sherlock looked down and picked him up.

“Hello, Jonathan. Quite a while since we’ve seen each other. And you are treating your mother well, I assume?”

Jonathan smiled wide. “Yes! I am nice to momma.”

Sherlock and Molly smiled at each other and Sherlock kissed his forehead. “As well you should. For a gentleman never disrespects a woman, let alone Molly Hooper.”

He winked at her.

As the boys bustled with the news that they would be going with Holmes they all bustled about to get everything packed hastily.

Sherlock and Molly stood by the doorway, and Sherlock found himself at a loss at what to say to her. She hadn’t responded to the letter and by the way she seemed to completely unassuming in his presence it seems that she did not read the letter. He went with the obvious conversation topics.

“I see Burnley is still treating you well.”

She smiled. “It has, the people are much more hospitable when I don’t have a black veil over my face.”

Sherlock nodded.

“And you look. . . You look very much the same,” he stammered when she gave him a raised eyebrow, “t-that is to say. . . You look very. . . Healthy.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Since I am feeling so healthy I might be motivated to go London.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot open. “Is that so?”

She smirked and walked up the stairs to her room without a word.

Jeremiah took his bags in both hands while he walked past Sherlock and nodded pitifully.

“You poor sap.” He laughed.

Molly had taken Jacob and Jonathan out to lunch when Sherlock and Jeremiah were sat quietly in the living room by the fireplace.

“All I am saying, Dad, is that you must tell her. It’s your only chance.” In privacy, since he had been a small child staying here with Holmes, Jeremiah had given Sherlock Holmes the title of father and he had taken it graciously.

Sherlock nodded. “She’s your mother, of sorts, and you understand her more than I do, but honestly, she would have read the letter if she was interested.”

Jeremiah huffed. “Perhaps you could have said it plainly. Molly isn’t one for offhanded attempts at resolution.”

Sherlock nodded and looked out the window, but made no attempt to further the conversation they had been having for more than three years now. When Molly and the boys arrived back she looked as winded as a mother would be with two very active boys. Sherlock loved the way she looked as she shook her hair from her cap and she let out a breathless noise of overextertion.

“Jeremiah, would you please draw Jonathan his bath? And Jacob, those revisions aren’t going to do themselves. You may be with Mr. Holmes, but you will do your coursework.”

The boys all filed away to do their duties and Sherlock felt that often felt and repetitive feeling of fondness for Molly Hooper.

She grinned at him once the boys had been off and went to stand by the window as she rested. She had felt very overwhelmed at first with this city, but eventually she felt at home, felt comfortable and capable in the arms of this city. She was glad she was here, glad she was with the boys, glad to be here with Mr. Holmes.

He sat next to her.

“I . . . I don’t suppose I ever thanked you.”

Molly felt that she loved when Mr. Holmes spoke softly. “What ever for?”

He gulped and looked down. “The boys. You let a very ungregarious and crass man take time with them and correspond with them. They are sometimes closer to me than my brother. I consider them as close as kin as possible.”

Molly smiled. “It has been their pleasure.”

Sherlock coughed. “Yes, which is to say. . . Well, it is to say that I have a question as to the children.”

Molly stood up straighter in attention to his obvious worry. “Yes?”

Sherlock shut his eyes tightly. Is this what it felt like for others? This nervous pattering inside him?

He swallowed fiercely, opened his eyes and looked at her in earnest. “I wish to make the boys my heirs.”

The boys ran down when they heard a loud thud.

Sherlock looked up at the boys who peered over the hand railing of the staircase. “It appears I’ve made your mother faint.”

**  
  
  
  
**

Molly Hooper awoke in a soft down bed and surrounded by the boys and Sherlock Holmes. She laughed at his worried glance.

“Oh, please, Mr. Holmes, you surely work in circumstances much more gruesome than an instance in which a surprised woman faints.”

Sherlock moved the towel from her head and was almost irrationally upset at her constant capability to look so vibrant.

He hmmed his ascent.

Molly looked at him. “Did you mean it? Did you mean what you said?”

Jeremiah looked at him in surprise. “You told her?!”

Sherlock nodded quickly to tell him to cease but Molly turned quickly. “Told me what?”

“About the inheritance!” Sherlock said.

“That he’s in love with you!” Jeremiah said.

**Jacob laughed within the moment the words fell out of their mouths.**


	5. And So All Things End (Part II)

He did not speak to Molly Hooper for five days.

Within that span he bathed the children, fed the children (with what little experience he had to go on), entertained the children, and avoided her. Whether she left her room was yet to be known but her scarcity was a precedent of her rejection. Or at least that is how Sherlock Holmes took five days of silence.

When she emerged on a Saturday no one paid any mind. No one had been awake at the time. She pattered about, in all motions of the matriarchal responsibilities she was aware of. She was setting the kettle as well as setting to work on their small breakfast when she noticed Sherlock in the doorway.

She jumped out of her own skin. “Oh! You have given me such a fright!”

He watched her with those slow, calculating eyes she had grown used to. “Could not sleep. I intended to look at the files Lestrade brought over. I have been behind.”

She turned around and whisked more avidly. Sherlock Holmes took this and her body language as further avoidance. “I am sorry if the children have been a hindrance in the work.”

He nodded. “They do nothing. I have avoided the cases because they are bothersome and tedious.”

She had nothing to say and so she said nothing at all.

He sat at the table and she felt the eyes on her as she continued to move around in a kitchen that was not her own. Suddenly the issues at hand seemed to suffocate her in this unfamiliar room. She stood her ground, unwilling to avoid his presence any longer.

“You have not told me if you will ascent to the children being my heirs.” Sherlock said it as merely a statement.

She turned around and sat promptly.

“What exactly does that entail, Mr. Holmes? Because while I am in no state of denial at the importance of you on my boys, I have yet to understand what fortune it is that you have.”

She considered her sentence and although she felt it to be a bit intrusive, she refused to let her children’s future be dealt with callously.

He nodded. “I understand your concern. My brother and I were both given more than sufficient inheritance when my parents passed. Mine has been building in interest. I wish to divide it among the children.”

She nodded. “It may be a trying process but I would love for them to be well off. The Church has already had a discussion about the retraction of deed to the house and I would like them to be in good states.”

She stood abruptly and went back to her culinary. He looked taken aback behind her.

“Why did you not mention this?”

She turned around with sympathetic eyes and smiled, although Sherlock knew it did not reach her eyes fully. Her burdens, so grievous and cumbersome, and she held them to herself and he thought her beautiful. Thought of her completely altruistic nature and was envious and ashamed of his selfish one.

“I did not think it obligatory. The children are what is most important.”

Her face looked aged, then. He truly saw the age in her eyes and skin. She had spent years taking care of them, with only a few months reprieve in the Summer and even then she had had nothing to help her.

He said nothing until she finished setting the table.

“We should be married.”

Molly nearly fainted.

“I must say that you do certainly have a knack for inducing faints, Mr. Holmes. And I shall take that in jest. Surely you cannot be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have every founded belief that you are in fact attracted to me as well. And your financial situation is yet to be dire, but there is the consideration of being sure and secure.”

She nodded. “I shall not marry as a result of financial despair.”

He stood and got impossibly close. “Financial despair? Do you invalidate my feelings purposely as a signal of rejection? If so, merely state your rejection, Ms. Hooper. I shall not play these games.”

It may have been his tone of the looming sense of superiority that emanated from him or her distinct feeling of being attacked, but she bit back.

“I do not play games, Holmes. You know that very well. Surely the years have not been so unkind that you forget that. As for rejection I have yet to understand what it is that I should reject. You have spoken not a word to me in private.”

“As though I am held at fault of this? You have barely left your room!”

She scoffed. “As though I cannot be addressed? Do not blame me for your cowardice.”

Neither was sure what this had transcended to, but as all things, Sherlock Holmes refused to be back down from an argument.

“Cowardice? And what is that meant to insinuate, Ms. Hooper?”

She looked up at him and pushed back. “I mean exactly that, Mr. Holmes. That you have no capability to address things directly within your control. Your avoidance is cowardice.”

He shot her a glare. “Avoidance is not a subject you should feel compelled to argue against, Ms. Hooper. Or shall I require to remind you about the past eight years?”

She huffed. “I need no reminder, but remember that you are who left first, Holmes.”

He continued with his cold stare. “Is this what this is about? Is this stubborn refusal at my proposal because you feel scorned by my abandonment?”

“What proposal, Sherlock?! I have, in these past moments, heard nothing but a crass proposition.”

“Same thing.”

“Not remotely the same thing! And I am not scorned, I am incapable of understanding what made you feel so inclined to leave when you had a connection with the children far beyond what is normal.”

He looked away. “You would not understand.”

She pushed forward harder, now the one settled in for a fight. “Then enlighten me!”

“I saw myself! As the world saw me! Do you understand the veracity of that revelation, Ms. Hooper?” He said abruptly.

She did not move for several moments so he continued.

“I pride myself on the logic, distinctly lacking in morality and to see that for what it was unsettled me.”

“You figured it out! You did, and you stayed because you had no one. You can’t hide that. And that also excuses the abandonment of children?” She asked, incredulous.

Sherlock scoffed. “You mean the abandonment of yourself!”

She slammed her hand on the table. “The children and I are mutually inclusive! What is done onto them is done onto me. I do not take these matters lightly, Holmes. A subject you should school yourself on very quickly before you have the audacity to scoff at such menial practices.”

He glowered now. “I do not find them menial, what I scoff at, Ms. Hooper, is your capability to make every issue about the children, when I know for a matter of fact and reason, without one doubt in my mind, that the children barely remember my abandonment. As you seem so ready to call what was a long overdue take of leave from a house that I had surely overstayed my welcome in. It is merely your idle mind that has supplied you with insecurities over the years that you seem ready to believe.”

She began to slam glassware and plates down. Sherlock Holmes knew he had gone too far when she refused to look up and became overly interested in the ground at her feet.

“If you think that, so be it, Holmes. I shall allow you to have whatever opinions you might formulate about me. It matters not to me. You left, Mr. Holmes. Do not make me the benefactor of your misfortunes. Be this what it is, I am hardly to be held accountable for inexorable events. And I will assure you with unsurpassed severity that I would alter our current state as it is, but I cannot! Now, if you'll excuse me.”

And with a rush she hurried upstairs, trying in vain to wipe tears from her eyes over words that hurt because of their truth.

“Molly, wait!” Sherlock called after her, but she had already slammed the door to her room.

Jeremiah rushed in, still dressed in his night clothes. “Molls, Molly, hey. Momma, what’s wrong?”

She began to collect clothes and things from drawers and putting them away in her trunk. “I was an idiot to come here. Stupid.”

Jeremiah stilled her hand. while forcing her to sit and held her face in his own. “Molls, slow down. What has happened?”

She looked away. “Holmes and I had a fight. He always says such mean things.” She knew this of course. She knew his misdirected scorn was not done unto her because of malice, but because as vehemently as he denied Sherlock was human, and he was rejected and upset. Molly had not expected anything less of him. But she refused to be subjected to that, refused to be a victim to words she knew were meant to sting. So she would take leave and never return, forgetting this house and forgetting Sherlock Holmes.

Jeremiah sighed. “It was about the other day, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.

He got up and began to motion to put away her things. “I shall help you pack and then call you a carriage.”

Jacob entered the room, rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes. “Momma, what was all that slamming of doors?”

She just nodded. “Nothing, Jacob, you may go back to bed.”

He noticed the crack in her voice and immediately was on the defensive. “Why have you been crying? What happened?”

Jeremiah shot him a look. “Holmes.”

Jacob walked over to her, still seated on the bed. He gave her forehead a kiss, making him seem so much older than he actually was and Molly was amazed at how well them had taken to comforting her.

“Don’t listen to him.”

Of all the children, Molly always thought that Jacob took after Sherlock the most. Being just close to sixteen, with an exquisite mind and knowledge beyond his years, with his curly hair and anti-social demeanor, Molly saw Sherlock in him the most. She saw what it would have been like to see Sherlock if the upbringing had been a warm and supportive one. And she was highly thankful for that.

They both helped her pack and while Jeremiah got the carriage she went to say goodbye to Jonathan.

“Momma!” He squealed as soon as she appeared.

She smiled and picked him up. “Oh look at my precious boy! How did you sleep? I bet you slept quite well like you always do, such a polite and good boy!”

He laughed and flailed in her arms, which displayed his enjoyment, and she laughed right along with him.

Sherlock had been in his mind palace since the moment after Ms. Hooper had run away crying. He had tried to find reference for what to do in this situation but came up with nothing. He emerged two days later and Jeremiah and Jacob stood in front of him. One of the most dangerous things a person could do was make Molly Hooper cry, lest the Hooper boys find out. They were both a force to be reckoned with.

“Where is Molly?” He asked.

They both grimaced as Jacob spoke. “She went home, Sherlock. She didn’t want to be here anymore.”

He stood abruptly. “No. I have to speak with her.”

Jeremiah sighed. “Father, you both have been skirting around each other since we were children. It’s grown tedious. She has gone home and she intends to stay there.”

**  
**  
  
  


Sherlock Holmes did not leave London immediately. He waited one week until the day he decided he would leave to see Molly Hooper, while the children stayed behind and waited to hear news.

Molly Hooper went home, cleaned up, and sat at the table and cried. So many years wasted on the veil and on Sherlock. There had been Trevor, who looked beyond the veil, and had been an army man. He had been quite nice to her. There had been Thomas, who was kind and wealthy and had promised her the world in exchange for her heart. So many years wasted on a petty infatuation only to be struck down by her own irrefutable logic. She had wasted years on Sherlock Holmes without even knowing she had, and as she stared at the messy house she figured it was time to clean up everything once and for all.

The day that Sherlock Holmes came was a Sunday. It was, ironically, the Sunday that Parson Hooper had died. So when he had ran inside to search her out and found no one he ran to the graveyard. She was there, kneeling over the gravestone and crying. Crying in a way he had never seen and it scared him. It scared him to see such a strong woman so weak. He decided he’d carry her weight with her, as she kneeled over the grave of her dead father.

“He was a brilliant man, you know. Even in the end.”

She jumped up and wiped her face. “What are you doing here?”

He nodded slightly. “Paying my respects to a great man.”

She frowned. “You barely knew him.”

He glanced at her and sighed. “I know people think me to be detached and cruel merely for the sake of being so, but it is not without its merits. I knew your father for a year and even then his death greatly upset me. He could have been a great scholar. I am cruel and unkind because it is easier to be so than to feel too much.”

She nodded her head. “That is a terrible way to live.”

He looked away. “I knew how to do little else when I had met you. The children, they help and they understand, but being set in my ways and having them change is difficult.”

She merely nodded as she began to walk away and he followed in tow.

“I want to say that I would like to formally apologize. My proposal was crass and impertinent and you deserve much better.”

She just nodded once more, having little energy to do anything else and when they got to the threshold of the house Sherlock picked her up.

She yelped but he shushed her. “I can tell you are weak. Let me take care of you.”

She frowned. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

He smiled softly at her. “Yes, of that I have no doubt, but once and a while weakness is allowed. You taught me that. You taught the boys that.”

She sighed and leaned into him, feeling the weight in her bones. It felt easy for her, to be carried and to fit in his arms so naturally.

He laid her down on the bed and covered her. He sat at her bedside and she lay there, her eyes drooping.

“Why? Why come back?”

He smiled at her, one of those private smiles he had learned only for her. “Because, Molly Hooper, I intend to marry you.”

She fell asleep smiling, hoping that for once things would be okay when she woke up.

Sherlock Holmes stared at the kitchen in absolute fascination, having never used any of the machinations a day in his life. Surely he didn’t need to learn to cook when sweet Mrs. Hudson always came up with tea and biscuits.

He was determined to make Molly a meal, figuring that surely that was the first step, but could hardly understand anything. Molly awoke two hours later to the smell of burning food and smoke. She coughed and ran down the stairs trying to figure out what exactly caused it only to find a messy Sherlock bending over a stove. She stoked the fire and bent over laughing harder than she had in years. He gave her a shy smile and she found that of all the smiles and character traits, she found that one to be her favorite. It was modest and she loved it.

They sat down after she made tea and she laughed.

“I fear I must take this business of proposal more seriously, for never in all my days did I heard of Sherlock Holmes attempting to make a meal.”

He pouted, but gave a small laugh finally. “I find you have just become even more brilliant because never have I heard of a woman who would dissect a brain and cook a meal. I am envious of your talents.”

She blushed and looked at her tea. “It isn’t troublesome, really. Though I must admit I find it hilarious that it was a difficult task for you.”

They just laughed at each other then.

After a while he sighed and looked at her. “How do you do it?”

She looked over at him. “Do what?”

“Be all the things the boys needed of you and more.”

She shrugged. “A simple necessity. They need me and I am very good at adapting.”

Sherlock simply sighed and sat at the table while she cleaned up his mess. It seemed to him that she did that quite often.

“Perhaps if you married you could share that responsibility.” He stated it simply.

She put the ashes of the burnt breakfast in a bin as she sighed. “I have managed without it for ten years, Holmes.”

“Be that as it may it would certainly allow you reprieve. Do not lie to me and say that you have never thought about what life would have been like had we married.”

She sat down across from him. “I gave those delusions up long ago when I had every right to believe you were not interested.”

“And what evidence may that have been?” Sherlock inquired, taken aback by the statement.

Molly scoffed. “You called me a ‘female with no idea of the matters at hand’! Was that meant to be a sentiment of affection? I must say Holmes, you are doing very little to help your proposal but inveigle me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Half of the woman of London would have swooned and accepted my proposal the moment I asked.”

She raised an eyebrow with contempt. “Is that supposed to be of import to me?”

He groaned and bowed his head. “You are utterly impossible. I am positively addled by your behaviour. What is it that you want from me, Ms. Hooper?”

She got up to redo the breakfast Sherlock had ruined.

“I see how you are in your cases, Mr. Holmes. I see how you can fool Doctor Watson and even your brother. But I am not so easily fooled, Mr. Holmes. I only ask for sincerity.”

**  
**  


The following week Sherlock and Molly spent an unprecedented amount of time with each other. The daily ritual was to wake up, have tea, go for a walk, and afterwards Molly would retire to her makeshift lab while Sherlock followed diligently behind her. Most of the time he made scathing or sarcastic remarks and Molly had gotten used to them.

It was on his tenth day of his stay that Sherlock asked her again.

They had been sitting at the table and for some reason Sherlock Holmes was unaware of, his impulse to marry the woman sitting adjacent to him was overwhelming in its degree.

“Will you marry me, Molly Hooper?” He said simply, shamelessly, as was his characteristic with everything he did. He cared not about regency etiquette.

She sighed as she returned the cup to its saucer. “We’ve talked about this, Holmes.”

“No. I ask, you avoid the subject matter, and in the end one of us is hurt.” He said, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at her constant rejection.

“I have yet to have a proper proposal, Sherlock.” She frowned.

He noticed that she had used his first name and something about that seem to catch his attention to the important of what she was asking.

“I just properly proposed.”

“No, Mr. Holmes. You did not. And besides, I still do not believe that financial issues would be the result of my marriage.”

Sherlock wanted to shout at how irksome this entire ordeal had become. “Why is it your most basic assumption that I do not feel fondness for you? Is it so hard to believe that I should find a bright, young, compassionate woman companionable?”

Molly looked surprised by this, which once again put Sherlock to question the real level of ehr intelligence.

“Fondness?”

He squared his shoulders as much as he could while attempting to abate the blush that threatened to rise in his skin. “Of course. Contrary to popular belief I do find some people amicable and worth the meddlesome rituals of human socialization.”

“Oh.” was all Molly Hooper was in a state of mind to say.

He reached for her hand and wrapped them around hers in hopes that she understood.

“You have every reason to marry me, Ms. Hooper. Every reason. And it would be a most hideous lie of you to say that upon having known me you have not imagined it. Especially these few years with the children.”

She pulled away. “What I wished for has changed, Mr. Holmes.”

“But not this!” he said emphatically,  “I know it hasn’t. I feel your pulse as it races, and your smiles are wider and happier, and I feel it as well as you do, Ms. Hooper. I feel it undeniably and it cannot be changed no matter how much I had wished for it over the years.”

“Do you wish for it to change now?” Molly said quietly.

They both sat there and Sherlock Holmes had been appalled that a woman as gracious and kind as Molly Hooper had the audacity to question his devotion to her.

He reached across the table and kissed her slowly and cautiously.

When they both pulled away their faces were scarlet and Sherlock Holmes gave her the smallest smirk.

**“I was sincere, Ms. Hooper. I sincerely wish that you marry me.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you all think?? Should I start another installment of this? Let me know and I might. (: Thank you so much for reading!


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